John Keats ( 10 of 38 )
'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, read more
'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen-
For what listen they?
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I read more
Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown.
St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
read more
Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of read more
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,--
Nature's observatory--whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds.
- John Keats,
And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds.
- John Keats,
